


Through a Lion's Eyes

by DracoCustos



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction relapse, I swear this will have a ship eventually, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoCustos/pseuds/DracoCustos
Summary: The Lion of Ferelden wants to deal with his problems on his own. But of course, there's an Inquisition going on, and an army needs a commander... Cullen deals with his addiction while also trying to be the commander the fledgling Inquisition needs.Written for noxfauna as part of the Black Emporium Exchange.





	Through a Lion's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noxfauna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxfauna/gifts).



> Oh boy, lemme tell you that writing this fic is an adventure and a half. I'm disappointed that I didn't have it done in time for it to turn it in as my assignment, but I absolutely want to make sure it gets posted, so I'm going to do so as I finish it and get it beta read. The prompt in question called for Cullen/Bull/Dorian, but I don't want to tag the ship until there's some shippy content.
> 
> As a warning, this fic will deal heavily with Cullen's lyrium addiction, and doesn't cut corners in showing exactly how I imagine lyrium withdrawls would feel. If addiction and such are a trigger for you, please tread lightly, or perhaps skip this one!

When Cassandra had told him that the Trevelyan girl had brought home a Qunari spy, he had, for a moment, thought she’d been trying to make a joke. After all, why would a mage who was _already_ on very thin ice with the people around her because of her mouth, want anything to do with a Qunari when their response would involve sewing her mouth shut? But sure enough, when he left the room he found a Qunari standing in the middle of the Haven chantry, and Cullen, squinting in the far too bright candlelight, felt his head start to throb as he tried to force himself to listen to what she had to say.

“Did you say you’ve brought us a _spy_?” he asked once the knowledge worked its way through his headache, interrupting what he was sure was a very important debate with Leliana on the subject so that the mage and Qunari could both look at him like he’d just grown another head. The longer they stared at him, the more aware Cullen became of the familiar, crawling sensation under his skin, followed by a much sharper throbbing in his skull. His body was trying to demand lyrium, and Cullen refused to provide it.

“I did,” she said. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the flickering green glow from the mark on her hand blending with the flickering of the candles to make her look more than a little demonic. Cullen shook his head, and at second glance, she was her usual smug self, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite being shorter than he was, her eyes narrowed in what he thought might be confusion.

Cullen spared a glance towards Cassandra, who looked just as annoyed as he was sure he would have felt if he hadn’t felt like garbage, before shaking his head again, harder this time in an effort to clear the growing fog. The Qunari was watching him far too closely, his one good eye squinting before turning his attention back to Leliana, who had somehow become the voice of reason in the situation. He stopped listening again. Maybe he should have been more concerned with the fact that, if the mage got her way, they would be keeping a Qunari spy in their ranks, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus long enough to care.

“We can worry about this more in the morning,” the Trevelyan mage interrupted, and for once, Cullen was happy to hear her highborn Ostwick drawl. The flickering lights had shadows moving in the edges of his vision, and Cullen – his head now throbbing too much to deal with the growing effort of ignoring them – simply wanted to go to sleep. “Or would you throw them to the demons in the middle of the night, Seeker Pentaghast?”

You planned it that way, Cullen found himself thinking as he watched the flickers give the otherwise unremarkable mage a demonic appearance for a second time, ignoring whatever response that Cassandra might have had to the realization that she’d been outplayed. He rubbed his eyes to rid them of the hallucination. But of course, she would plan it that way, he realized as the fog let up just enough to let him think properly again as she walked away with the Qunari in tow. If he stayed one night and no horde of oxmen descended on them as they slept, what would the harm be in letting him stay another?

Cullen snorted at how perfect her plan had turned out once he’d thought it through.

“Are we truly going to let her do this?” Cassandra shot at him, and all Cullen could do was chuckle.

“You’re the one who decided she wasn’t guilty, Seeker,” he said, and decided that he would excuse himself from what he was sure would be a migraine inducing issue all its own to battle the one he already had, since sleep sounded to much better to him than dipping into the box he kept buried under the rest of his belongings. He was – _used to be_ – a templar, he could have left the box in plain sight on the table and no one would have questioned him on it; but for Cullen, the fact that he’d brought the box with him all the way from Kirkwall was an almost unbearable mark of shame. He should have thrown it into one of the fires burning around the city before he left, but when he’d gone to do it, he’d been worried that the lyrium dusk inside it would explode, and so he’d kept it in his pocket. He could have thrown it into the Waking Sea, but the headaches he’d had nonstop had stopped him, and now he was in Haven, and the box was still in his bag hiding under his clothes.

The throbbing in his head only got worse as he wandered back to his room, shucking his armor and boots before collapsing into his bed, one hand reaching out to pinch the lone candle out in a last ditch effort to see if the burning would help him focus on anything else other than his headache. It did help, but not enough, and his head just continued to throb as he forced himself to breath, deep and even, determined that even if he couldn’t sleep, he would meditate to ensure that if his night couldn’t be peaceful, it would at least be restful. Despite the throbbing in his head, however, he finally felt exhaustion overtake him, and he fell into a very uneasy sleep.

 

He was back in the tower. The peaceful darkness of his room had been replaced by the harsh light of the magic cage he’d been kept in, and through the pounding of his head, he could hear the near constant screams from the Harrowing chamber. He closed his eyes against the painfully bright lights, but if anything, his head only throbbed worse, and the screams only became louder and more terrified.

He opened his eyes again, and before him stood the demon, tall and lovely with her slender form covered in glistening purple skin. He shook his head hard in an effort to clear it – that wasn’t how it had been, not in Kinloch, and not in Kirkwall. He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them this time, the scene had changed once more; the demon was gone, but on the table sat the box. It was open, a vial of warm, glowing blue liquid sitting in front of it, the wood between the box and the vial littered with a small amount of blue dust.

Had his hand shaken when he’d gone to dump the dust into the vial? How long had it been since he’d made himself a dose? Cullen tried to remember, but he couldn’t think past the sight of the lyrium before him, though even as he went to reach for it, he felt his gut wrench violently, and he was forced to close his eyes again, leaning against the wood of the table for balance.

Suddenly, he lurched forward, the pressure of the table against his arm and forehead gone, and when he opened his eyes again he was face to face with the demon that Uldred had become.

It roared at him, reaching out like it planned to grab him, and Cullen felt himself shoot bolt upright in bed. He felt around beside him for the straps of his bag, pulling it into his lap without a second thought as his free hand dove into it, closing around the box with enough force he was sure he felt wood splinter. The vial of water inside it was cold, but when he tipped the small packet of blue powder into it, there was still the slightest hint of a glow. But not enough – Cullen held his thumb over the opening of the vial, letting the heat from his hand warm it as he shook it, and swallowed the contents while it was still chilled and gritty.

The relief he felt was almost instant. The throbbing in his head stopped, and while the fog he still came to associate with the nightmares was still there, it cleared much more quickly with the lyrium in his system.

Lyrium, he thought, and closed his hand tighter around the vial until it shattered, the blood running down his hand little more than a minor annoyance. He mumbled the Chant to himself as he picked shards of glass out of his hand, continuing as he dressed for the day, the sunlight streaming under his door an indicator that he needed to get to work with his soldiers. He would have to deal with the fact that he’d failed himself before the day ended, as such a small dose would likely not even get him through the morning, but he would make the best of his clear headedness for as long as it lasted, and that would have to be enough for him.


End file.
